American Soldier
by natashas-barton
Summary: A series of chapters which highlights parallels between fictional heroes and real ones. This fic explores the hardships, joys, and every day challenges the Barton family is forced to cope with because Clint Barton is an Avenger. Trigger Warnings included in opening note. Rated T for language and darker themes.
1. Deployment

**This is an idea I have had for awhile, and have yet to put it into writing form until now. Essentially, my idea is to highlight parallels between the character Clint Barton, and the realities of military dads / families. I am very appreciative of our men and women in uniform, and have always felt that exploring the similarities between fictional heroes and heroes in real life, could easily be done by looking at more personal aspects of Clint and his family's life.**

 **I have about 5 chapters planned, possibly more. Each will always be in first person point of view, a style I usually never write in, but I thought was appropriate for this fic. However it won't always be in the same character's perspective. Each chapter will highlight a different aspect of some of the hardships but also joys that could come with having a family member in service. Some chapters will jump around in time, with some being a pure stream of thoughts and memories, and some being scenes in the present.**

 **Trigger Warnings:** **like all my other stories, I tread into darker themes. This story will likely include:**

 **\- character deaths**

 **\- graphic violence**

 **\- scenes written in 1st person POV that depict possible suicidal, depressive, or post traumatic thoughts, and possible mild alcoholism.**

 **None of these trigger warnings besides maybe the hinting at the first apply to this chapter. However a fair warning for the future.**

 **I will likely update this a lot this week, because I have a purpose that will be revealed in later chapters why the majority of this fic will be posted in the next week. I do hope you enjoy this little fic, feedback and suggestions are always welcomed. Look for an update within a couple days.**

/

Chapter One: Deployment

[ Cooper Barton's Point of View ]

Growing up, my dad was absent from my life far more than he was apart of it. The memories I have of him in my childhood are few, but yet he was my hero growing up.

When I was really young, and my mom was pregnant with Lila at the time, I didn't understand why my dad always left us. We'd be overjoyed the one or two times he came home a month, but he often leave just as soon as getting back. My mom tried to explain that my dad what he did because he loved us, and because he was a hero.

I came to the conclusion that life with my dad home was better than when he was gone. And so, I didn't understand why he couldn't love us, or be a hero to us, while staying here. The few longer times he stayed home when I was so young, I remember being some of the happiest memories of my childhood. He took me fishing, gave me his old spy gear or small souvenirs from missions, and taught me what archery was and how to hold a bow. He kept telling me when I got older he'd let me fire an arrow, and so every time he came home I would ask him if I could finally shoot.

I also didn't understand why my mom was so devastated when he left. We both cried when he left, but I would simply go out into the barn and practice pulling back bowstrings, or play with what my dad had brought home from me. But my mom's eyes would remain bloodshot for days after he left. She'd clutch to her phone as if it were her lifeline when he was gone.

She'd cry at random times, and at first it would scare me, but eventually I accepted that my mom was always sad without my dad. I had no idea that she cried not because she missed him, but because she lived in constant fear that he would never return.

In my mind, he was always coming back home eventually. I had no reason to believe anything bad could ever happen to him. And so when I heard my mom crying at night, unable to sleep because of the terrible thoughts she was burdened with, I would climb in bed with her, and fill the empty side of the bed where my dad would sleep.

I would hear her pray every night, hear her say with her head bow and hands clasped tight, "keep him safe." But yet I would never understand why she did it, until the first time I saw my dad in the hospital. After that, I learned to pray with my mom every night. And I found myself crying along with her when he left.

After Lila was born, he came home a little more frequently, often with Aunt Nat as well. Me and Lila came to the conclusion that the few times dad was home, especially when he brought Aunt Nat, were the happiest times of our childhood. Conventional holidays like Halloween, Christmas, even our birthdays, lost meaning. Instead it were those surprise weekends when my dad would show up that we celebrated with good meals, tales of his adventures, and of course he'd spend every free moment playing with us in the yard or around the house.

Most Christmases my dad was never home, especially the older I got. He would usually call, and he'd always leave several presents under the tree. I can only remember maybe two times he was home for Christmas, and one time where he came home Christmas evening and It was the best present Lila or I could have asked for. My mom always made sure we celebrated it every year anyway, she always did so much for us to make up for dad always being gone. But truly, the only Christmases I consider to have had in my childhood, were those when my dad was home to celebrate them with us.

The same goes for my birthday, though my dad almost spoiled me with the presents he'd leave as compensation for not actually being there. Looking back on it, though I was too young or naive to even consider it at the time, half of what he got from SHIELD or work and gave to me was likely illegal. My mom would sometimes scold him for the old tech or even weapons he'd give me, but he always trained me carefully on how to use them. It's what I remember bonding with my dad most over, was having the chance to be somewhat like him.

On my 10th birthday he managed to be there, and he let me shoot my first arrow. I didn't hit a bullseye, but the arrow didn't fly over the target either. I can still remember the pride I had when he told me it was better than the first time he shot an arrow, and when he told me I'd make a fine marksman one day.

He wasn't home on my 12th birthday, but he made for me my own bow, set of arrows, and quiver. I would never use them without him, but instead whenever he came home, he would always set aside time to teach me to shoot. He would grab his old half broken bow that stayed out in the barn when we shot together, because it gave me the upper hand, and he liked to let me hit more bullseyes than him sometimes. He taught me everything he knew, and when he was gone, I would practice every day out back, waiting for him to call so I could tell him how many bullseyes I hit on my own.

On my 18th birthday, my mom gave me his bow and quiver, telling me that he wanted me to have them when I was older. Aunt Nat gave me his pistol that year as well. She taught me how to shoot a gun, though remarked that my dad had already taught me good aim.

On my 19th birthday, I enlisted in the Army, and would end up using both of my dad's weapons to serve my duty as a marksman. My mom cried when I deployed, and I knew she would continue to cry and pray every night, and for that part I felt guilty. But I found comfort in knowing that like my dad, I was using my skills to save others and be a hero. And for as much as it hurt my mom, little sister, and little brother, I hoped it would have made him proud.


	2. The Purple Heart

**This chapter ended up being longer than I anticipated. However there was a lot I wanted to cover under this chapter, because as you will notice, each chapter kind of has a theme. You may not be able to read this chapter in one sitting honestly, but it will definitely be the longest chapter, I won't go any longer in any other chapter. Nevertheless I hope all of you enjoy, and thank you to those who have left feedback for the first chapter. It means a lot to hear what I did that you both liked and didn't like, so thank you.**

/

The Purple Heart

/ Laura's Point of View \\\

I remember the week leading up to Cooper's birth as probably one of the most frightening weeks Clint and I had experienced together at that point. He would yell at Fury and even Natasha over the phone when they insisted he needed to come into work. I swear, if he wasn't such a skilled combatant they would have fired him a long time ago for his stubbornness. He refused to leave my side throughout that whole week, scared that one false move could result in him losing me or our son. I almost got the sense that he was more scared than I was during the whole thing.

Cooper was born very early in the morning, and while I could barely stay awake at that point, I remember Clint was awake and by my side throughout the whole night. When I was in pain, he'd rub my back and shoulders gently, or run his hands through my hair as he tried to distract me by humming softly.

Even when I managed to drift in and out of sleep, I don't think he got any sleep that night. Instead he sat beside me, always awake, alert, and ready to take my hand, or distract me from the pain. I told him to rest, but he wouldn't have it. I never knew Clint to be one to turn down sleep, but when he was working, protecting me and our kids, he could never rest until knowing we were all safe.

Clint took two months off of work to stay with me after Cooper was born. Between how Clint couldn't seem to ever put Cooper down, to how he insisted on being involved in every little part of his life, whether it be bathing, feeding, or even making sure he fell asleep, I started to think parenting suited Clint more than his career.

A part of me was hopeful this would last. Because while Clint made me proud with the work he did, I was optimistic that perhaps this was the start of a more involved life together.

Clint was not a doubt made to be a father. I knew this the moment I woke up in the hospital, and saw Clint sitting beside me asleep with Cooper cradled in his arms. He loved our children deeply and fiercely, but the calling of his work eventually took hold of him again, and he returned to the fray.

/

Lila's birth could not have been any more different than Cooper's.

In the hours after I was recovering from a c-section, it wasn't Clint, but Cooper who sat by my bedside.

While the thought of my newborn daughter was on both of our minds, so was the worrisome fact that Clint had not called since I left a message that my water broke.

Eventually a call did come, from Natasha Romanoff.

And not an hour later, Cooper, newborn Lila, and I were all flown to a SHIELD hospital facility, so I could be in the same hospital as my husband.

/

The door of the hospital room opened slowly, as I wearily looked up to see Natasha slide into the dim room. I had no idea what time it was, because I fell asleep as soon as I was admitted into the new hospital. Lila was in the nursery so I could rest, and thankfully Cooper had managed to fall asleep curled up in the chair beside me. Natasha, approaching only after seeing that Cooper was asleep, slowly came and sat on the edge of my bedside.

It was hard to see through the dimmed lights, but even with that, I could tell Natasha's face was more pale than usual. I could see the look of dread in her eyes, as I asked,

"Nat, what's going on? All they told me was that he was in surgery and I…"

She dropped her head slowly, and pained eyes avoided my gaze. She started to speak very softly, to the point I found it hard to make out some of what she said. But I knew she was keeping her voice down so Cooper wouldn't wake or hear.

"He coded during surgery."

I felt as if a wave of nausea hit me suddenly, as my hand went to my chest, and I laid back into the hospital bed for stability. Natasha saw my instant discomfort, and immediately declared calmly,

"He's alive,"

As she got up to get a bin for me to get sick into, she repeated steadily,

"He's alive, Laura. They were able to bring him back, he's alive."

But no matter how many times she said it the thought of my husband's heart stopping the same day that I brought our daughter into this world, all became a little too much.

I threw up three times. Natasha sat in silence, but she kept a soft hand on my back and helped to calm me down and eventually was able to get me medication for the nausea and anxiety in my IV.

I was grateful that throughout the ordeal Cooper remained asleep. Eventually I calmed down enough for her to explain everything,

"It was supposed to be an easy mission, a quick in and out. But we were ambushed and Clint got shot."

She pulled up her loose t shirt for me to see a large white bandage on her side.

"I got hit too. But he must have gotten a major artery nicked, because he…Laura, he lost a lot of blood."

The way her voice tightened and her gaze avoided mine, I couldn't help but know that good news likely wasn't to follow.

Natasha had to sit down as she said in a hushed voice,

"Once we got him into surgery they were able to fix the gunshot wound easily, but he had lost so much blood, that his brain wasn't getting enough oxygen, and his heart stopped. They were able to bring him back with the defibrillator, but Laura, he's…he's still not awake."

If I hadn't been on the medications I was on, I likely would have passed out when Natasha said that the doctors confirmed him to be in a comatose state.

/

One of the hardest things I have ever had to do was explain to my 5 year old son that his dad may never wake up.

At the time, he didn't understand what 'being in a coma' meant, or even the dangers of being shot in the back. He was confused on why this was happening, and whether to feel happy about being a big brother, or scared for his dad. I knew the hospital frightened him, and I saw as he became frustrated.

He hardly talked over those next few days, and instead would simply fall asleep next to me in my bed, or hold his arms around him and evade my gaze when he was awake. I would have taken him and Lila home by this point, if the stress and c-section recovery had not caused several complications.

Once Natasha was discharged, she suggested letting Cooper see his dad. She saw, as much as I did, how frustrated he became over the fact that his dad was here, but yet Clint never came to see us. He didn't understand, that Clint physically couldn't.

I eventually agreed, because I saw how the confusion was tearing my son apart. But I knew I needed to see Clint first. So Natasha helped me into a wheel chair that allowed me to travel with my IV still in, and she had a nurse take me to Clint while she stayed with Cooper.

I had seen Clint hurt before: coming home so bloodied that even as a retired nurse I couldn't take care of him. I had seen him wheelchair bound, having seizures, and even sat by his bedside twice while waiting for him to recover from surgery because of gunshot wounds. But this was nothing like anything I had ever seen him go through before.

He laid there entirely still besides the slow rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, that matched the sound of oxygen being pumped into him. An oxygen mask covered a good portion of his face. But past the mask, I could see the very much recognizable face of my husband, only he was unnaturally pale and his eyes remained firmly shut even as I called out his name and took his hand.

It was almost hard to believe he was alive, let alone hold onto hope that there was a possibility he could wake up and recover. Machine ventilators breathed for him, while IVs provided him nutrients, fluids, and medications. I don't know how long I sat there, my hand over his, as I took in the sight and tried to comprehend it all. Here I was, the mother of a beautiful newborn baby girl, sitting beside her husband who may never wake up to meet his daughter. There weren't many ways to cope with the overwhelming emotions I had in that moment, so for the longest time I simply held his still hand up to my lips, kissing and holding them gently, as I didn't even try to stop the stream of tears that fell onto his hand.

Seeing Cooper have to cope with the same sight was even harder. Natasha eventually brought him in, and she held his hand as she led him to Clint's bedside, saying to me that Cooper woke up and wanted to be with me. It hurt to see the weight of the situation take its toll on him. It hurt to see deep grief and sadness be thrust upon my little boy, as he looked at his father with fear in his eyes.

I gestured for him to come close to me, and I took his hand in mine. I tried to make the situation easier by explaining to Cooper that dad needed to rest for awhile.

"Is he going to wake up?" He asked timidly, as if afraid of the answer.

"I don't know," I answered honestly, trying to hide my tears from him.

/

Natasha really became a part of our family when Clint was in a coma. I couldn't bring myself to leave his side, but both Natasha and I knew, that Cooper couldn't live in the hospital with me and Clint. So Natasha took Cooper back to our farm, and Lila and I stayed with Clint.

Over the next two weeks I hardly left Clint's side. As a retired nurse, I knew how to take care of him, and so I looked after him over those weeks. I monitored his vitals, and reviewed his charts every day. I would also help move him slightly each day, to prevent bedsores. It was never easy feeling my husband's completely limp and unresponsive body under my arms as I adjusted him each day, but I never failed to take care of him.

As his wife more than his nurse, I sat beside him and with his hand and mine, would talk to him for hours on end. I'd tell him about Lila, and how she had his eyes and hair color. Most of the time I had little Lila in my arms when I sat by him, and sometimes I'd just describe her movements to him. In my mind, though not medically proven, I'd like to think he somehow understood that he had a beautiful healthy little girl to wake up to.

When the stubble on his chin grew out more than I knew he would have liked, I shaved for him. When Lila cried, I would take her out of the room to calm her, so he wouldn't have to hear. When there were nights that I couldn't sleep, because of my worry and fear for him, I'd go to the small chapel in the hospital and pray.

After two weeks Natasha encouraged me to come home. But every other day I'd leave both Cooper and Lila with her, and I'd go and see him. It was hard to leave my newborn daughter, but at the same time it was hard to care for her with Clint in the hospital. Everything was hard during those long weeks without him.

At the beginning of the third week, he began to breathe on his own again. But I didn't allow myself to hold onto a newfound hope until a day later, when I felt him apply a small amount of pressure to my hand as I held his. Two days later he woke up.

The first thing I did when he slowly opened his eyes, was calmly say his name, and explain to him that everything was alright, and that I was here. I tried to not overwhelm him, but as soon as he gained full consciousness I couldn't help but kiss him, and tell him repeatedly how much I loved him. He leaned his head into me, and as I ran my hands through his hair and held him close, he said weakly yet casually, "hey Laura."

He was groggy and fatigued those first couple days, but he lit up as soon as the rest of his family came. Upon Cooper running up and hugging his dad tightly, Clint weakly ruffled his hair and said with a smile,

"Hey lil buddy."

Cooper threw his arms around his dad's neck and said,

"You were asleep for a long time."

Clint smiled sadly and rubbed his son's back softly as he tried to keep a light hearted tone,

"I know, I know. I was just tired Coop, needed a big long nap."

"I missed you," Cooper said tearfully.

But Clint tried to calm him as his voice grew soft and he just held him close as he said,

"I know. But it's okay I'm here, I'm not going anywhere."

I saw Clint smile towards Natasha with gratitude in his eyes as he held Cooper close. He knew that she took care of us when he couldn't. However when his eyes fell upon the little bundle in her arms, I saw his eyes mist over in tears he tried to hold back.

I knew what was running through his head as Natasha handed Lila to me, and then I brought Lila to him. I knew he felt guilty for not being here to help me, for the fact that I had to cope with his injury while caring for a newborn. I knew he sad that he could have possibly left us before meeting his daughter, or even that he missed the first three weeks of her life. But as I settled her into her daddy's arms, all those feelings must have simply disappeared as Clint smiled down at her, proudly, lovingly. He seemed to find a sudden newfound energy and strength, as he sat up and cradled her gently.

/

After those three weeks our lives were changed forever. Clint spent nearly six months recovering, partially because he was hesitant to go back to work and leave Lila and Cooper again.

After Lila was born, the stakes definitely changed in our household. When Clint did eventually go back to work, the fear of him getting hurt or even killed was much more real, for both me and Cooper. Seeing Clint so weak and vulnerable had brought a sense a reality to both me and my little boy. Every time he left home after that, it was harder.

We did have one more scare when Cooper was about 12 years old, Lila around 7, and Nate less than a year old. Clint and Natasha were in a bad aircraft crash, but Clint took the brunt of the injury when the quinjet crashed harder on the side he was on. He was impaled with glass, and ended up with internal bleeding. When he was rushed to surgery they could only operate so much, before he was too weak to handle the rest of the procedure needed to address his life threatening wounds. They closed him up, put him on painkillers, and basically told us if he lived through the night and gained enough strength, they would operate tomorrow.

Natasha ended up confessing to me that they were giving him a 10% chance of making it through the night.

I brought Cooper, Lila, and Nate to the hospital, in what I thought may be the last time they saw their dad. As we approached his room, I grabbed both of their hands in mine and kneeled down in front of them.

"I know its late, and we're going to go home after this, okay?"

Lila nodded groggily, I could tell she was exhausted.

"But daddy, well he got really hurt at work," I tried to explain.

"Is he going to be okay?" Lila asked with wide eyes.

I rubbed her hand and looked down as I said,

"I don't know, but the doctors are going to do everything they can, okay Lil? And Aunt Nat is going to stay with him all night, look out for him for us."

Lila nodded slowly, worry clouding her eyes.

"We just need to, tell daddy how much we love him now," I said finally, as I held back tears through a sad smile.

Lila went in first, but before I could go in with her I saw the look on Cooper's face. He didn't want to see his dad like this again, I know he didn't. Memories of when he was a little boy made him naturally fearful of having to see Clint like that again. But I also knew that unlike Lila, Cooper was older and deserved to know more of the truth. I kneeled down in front of him again, looking up at him I said softly,

"I know you don't want to see him."

He shook his head firmly, and avoided my gaze.

"I don't either," I admitted softly, as I took both of his hands, and looked up at him with tearful eyes.

"But I think he deserves our love no matter what, and that we will probably regret it if we don't give him that," I continued.

"He's going to die, isn't he?"

I looked up at Cooper, as I could feel several tears finally roll down my cheek after hours of trying to stay strong for my kids, before finally finding the strength to say,

"I didn't want to tell your sister, but…yes, this may be the last time you see your dad."

Cooper looked down to avoid my gaze and nodded.

"So you want me to say goodbye?"

I blinked back tears as I nodded.

Cooper was almost 13 years old, and he deserved to be told the truth. But still, I will never let go of the guilt I feel for sending him in there knowing this was likely the last time he'd see his dad alive.

Natasha offered to take the kids home so I could stay with Clint, but I decided against it. Like Cooper, I said my goodbyes that night. While I wanted to be there for him, I also knew that my kids would need their mother when the time came. Natasha agreed to stay with him all night, and to call me when it happened.

When my phone rang at 8 o'clock in the morning, I was expecting to be informed that I was a widow. But instead Natasha told me that Clint survived the night, and was gaining back some strength and would likely have surgery soon. We ended up taking him home two days later, and he made a smooth recovery within two weeks.

/

My husband's resilience amazed me, but each time he was wounded in action it took a toll on us all. After the crash that nearly took his life, I urged him to retire. And he did, for awhile.

Against my better judgement, he couldn't resist the call of duty. He loved what he did, and even as he got older and each injury slowed him down more and more, he kept fighting.

I wanted him to see our kids graduate high school or even college. I wanted him to walk Lila down the aisle one day. I wanted him to be able to meet his grandkids.

Clint wanted all those things too, and so he vowed to retire when Cooper graduated high school. I argued that if he got himself into enough trouble and injured himself badly enough that he'd have to move the date up. He only laughed, but he did say he would go to Fury the next day and make it official, his retirement date. And that he did.

/

 **Note:** **The** **Purple Heart** **is a** **United States** **military decoration** **awarded in the name of the** **President** **to those wounded or killed while serving, on or after April 5, 1917, with the** **U.S. military** **.**


	3. Memorial Day

[ Natasha's Point of View ]

It only took three seconds, one pop per second, for it to happen. Of course, Clint had better eye sight than me, and snipers had a way of rooting out their own. Amongst the smoke and blurs of adrenaline as we had each other's backs, he saw what I wouldn't realize until our roles were reversed. He saw that I had become more than a combatant, I was a target.

He shoved me to the ground in as gently a manner he could, though at the time I thought he was an enemy assaulting me. Turning in apprehension as I hit the hard ground, it took me little time to get on my feet, arms ready to fight back. But instead of facing the more desirable of a situation, an enemy who I would promptly deal with, I instead faced a sight I would never unsee.

The first shot I didn't see, but I heard it fire off from where the sniper perched. I heard it make impact, as it collided with the bone of his hip. The shot was fired before I realized it wasn't a hostile who pushed me down-and so the sounds of shattering bones and flesh being ripped apart by sharp bullets wasn't as vivid. I thought I had I nothing to lose, until my gaze made contact with my assailant.

Before the second pop even recognized in my mind as a gunshot, I saw his chest cave in and shutter under the impact of the bullet. There was no crashing sound this time, the bullet struck no bones. It simply carved a clean path right into his lungs. That second shot to the chest would bring him to the ground, but it was as he collapsed that a third found its mark.

My arms that were raised to fight instead caught him as he fell. Dead weight pulled me down with him, but I managed to soften both of our falls. In hindsight - I should have leapt over him, shielded him, taken one bullet for him as he had already taken two for me.

But instead that third and final round shot right into his abdomen. With his body collapsing into my arms, I saw his grey blue eyes widen in pain as blood erupted from the third bullet wound.

I probably kneeled there, lowering myself and him to the ground slowly, in silence and shock for three times as long as it took to bring him to this state. I've never been known to be one to lose myself to shock, to become useless under the pressure of emergencies. But with the weight of my best friend, struck down by three shots, in my hands, I was rendered useless. And I lost precious time.

I was forced out of shock by the realization that a bullet flew past me. We were both exposed, and the sniper now aimed to bring down his original target.

For a moment, I let go of everything. I found cover behind the collapsed ruins of a building. Moving there without hesitation, even the sound of Clint screaming as I dragged his bleeding form across the battle-torn ground didn't stop me. Every drag of his left leg, sent blood spewing from where his left hip was shot. Perhaps it was easier to tune him out, because it didn't sound like him. I had never heard a more pained cry from anyone before: friend or foe. Every step was agony for him.

By the time we made it to cover, we both collapsed onto the ruined ground. Only where I fell, a pool of blood didn't follow. I couldn't say the same for Clint.

I scrambled to my feet and made my way over to him, lowering down and pulling him into my lap. He was at a loss of breath from the painful hollering, but nonetheless he breathed out words.

"Natasha..."

Words, that were mixed with the sickening sound of blood rising up in his throat.

"No, don't try to talk Clint," I demanded immediately, holding his head to straighten it back to make it easier for him to breathe.

"Nat I-"

"Don't. Clint, you need to save your strength. If you continue talking soon you'll be coughing up blood, and will choke before..."

I trailed off. Before what? His lungs filled with blood? His torn abdomen and intestines caused irreversible internal bleeding? The loss of blood caused him to go into cardiac arrest?

There was no alternative situation where the worst wouldn't happen. And as I looked down at his pained grey blue eyes, I knew that he understood this.

"Nat..."

His voice grew softer but raspier with every second. I looked away as he gently pleaded my name, I couldn't bare to look him in the eye as he continued.

"Laura...and..."

Without a word I placed firm hands on his chest, as I pushed down pressure to stop the bleeding from his chest. Through grit teeth he howled in pain, but I continued-harder.

"No, Clint. You're not going to think like that."

He looked up to me, begging for me to listen to him. But I couldn't listen to his dying words, not without trying to keep him alive. I pushed harder, and he trembled weakly under my hand.

"You're going to be okay."

You can't die.

"You're going to pull through this."

You can't leave me.

I pushed harder, not just applying pressure but I pushed up and down to keep his slowing heart beating. He winced with every push. My hands eventually began to lose grip and slip along his chest, wet with blood. My compressions were becoming useless, but I couldn't bring myself to stop trying.

The hole in his chest had opened significantly, so much so that my hands seemed to sink into his chest. When I began to feel more than just skin under my hands, but a very strong presence of a barely beating heart, I pulled my hands practically out of his chest in disgust. Disgust at myself, for letting myself torture him like this.

My eyes widened at the sight of my scarlet hands, as I looked at Clint, trying to apologize. But Clint wasn't disturbed in the least. He had sadly accepted the reality that I couldn't bare to comprehend.

In that vital moment that I stopped compressions, he let his eyes close peacefully. My hands instinctually went towards his chest again, to press into his open chest once again, to force his heart to keep him alive. His eyes shot open in pain at my touch.

As I pressed down, Clint found the strength to lift his hand and place it over mine. He looked up at me. His eyes were the same strong and loving storm hued gaze I had known since the day we met, except they were foreign in the fact that he was exhausted. A trembling lip brought out several rasping words, slurred with the blood that backed up in his throat.

"Please, Nat..."

His hand positioned more firmly upon mine, squeezing feebly as he lifted my hand off his chest. With a tired voice he pleaded,

"Let me be."

His hand fell as if it were the greatest exertion of energy to lift my hand. I caught his limp hand, and held it in my own. With his hand in mine, I felt the slightest pressure as he held my hand. For comfort. For reassurance. For a relief from the pain he felt.

As he clung to me, desperate for me to take away his pain, I couldn't put him through it anymore. No matter how much I wanted him to keep fighting, I couldn't inflict more pain upon him. But it pained me to know, that I never repaid him. I would always owe him that debt, and now, all I could offer for him sparing my life, was to let his end.

I helped reposition him on my lap in order to make him more comfortable. Turning his head with a gentle hand to face upward towards me, so he could breathe easier. I kept my hands gently at the side of his face, holding his head straight so he could look up at me.

As I ceased all life saving efforts and let him lay in my lap, I heard his breath become less of a wheeze. He exhaled slowly, without the gurgle of blood, and looked up towards me with an expression that wasn't pained. His face lost its look of pain and relaxed, but his grey blue eyes began to struggle to stay open.

We both knew it was coming. He gripped my hand harder, but it barely felt like any pressure to me.

He tried to talk, but as soon as he coughed and hacked up blood. Helping him regain his breath, I slowly shook my head as I looked down at him.

"Don't," I mouthed. He nodded, almost defeatedly.

"You don't have to ask, you don't need to say anything," I said, hardly loud enough for him to hear over the gunfire but his eyes looked like he processed what I was saying.

"I will take care of them, you know I will. We all, will take such good care of them."

My voice cracked from the tension I felt at the back of my throat. But he nodded with a small smile, his closing eyes shining with gratitude. Oh how I would miss that smile.

He suddenly lifted his hand weakly. Watching his fingers move, I figured out that he was signing.

'Make sure I get Home,' he signed.

I brought my hand up to the side of his face and lowered my head just slightly as my voice grew quiet. It was stupid of me to do so, no one else was around. But I didn't want anyone but Clint to hear the choking sadness in my voice as I said,

"Of course I will. I'll take you there myself if I have to."

He smiled again.

"I'll try not to crash the quinjet if it comes to that. I mean, I'm not much of a pilot without my co pilot."

He laughed. It was sad, lethargic, and labored. But he laughed.

"I'll even adopt your dog if that'll make you feel better."

It was becoming harder to keep back the evidence of my sorrow.

He lifted his hand to sign, "Thank you."

"You don't need to thank m-"

He shook his head. Lifting his hand he tried to sign, but slowly his hand fell lower and lower, as if he was losing control of his hand in slow motion. I caught his hand in mine, and wrapped both my hands around his. I knew what he was trying to tell me. He was thanking me not for what I promised in this moment, but for everything.

"It's okay, I, I know."

I brought his hand to my chest, and lowered my head as I suddenly said, admitted:

"I love you, Clint."

I knew he was married. I knew he would never feel the same about me. I knew I shouldn't have these feelings. I knew he had to know, though: know that I had always felt like this.

But I would never know if he heard me. Looking to him after I managed to pull those words out of me, his eyes were closed. I asked him to stay with me, but his eyes never opened again.

His breath was shallow. He was still alive, but aside from the gentle and slowing rise and fall of his chest, there was no indication he was still alive. He was either too weak or too far gone to give me a sign of consciousness.

I leaned down and kissed his forehead. Keeping my head close to his, close enough to hear his faint exhales, I said through a breath,

"I'll always love you."

I held him closer to me, so I could feel every slow and dying rise of his chest. So I would know when it was over.

With a voice soft enough only for Clint to hear, if he were conscious, I sang. It was a simple sad song, one I couldn't put a name to. I didn't even know where I learned it, except for it must have been when I was a child, because I sang it in Russian.

Clint always said he wished I would embrace my native tongue more. And so as I held him, I quietly sang to him every song I knew from my home country.

The fighting eventually ended, but I didn't go back into the fray. I stayed with Clint until it was over, and even then, I didn't move until others came to find us.

The first I saw approach from the dying smoke was Wanda Maximoff. I could see a cut down the side of her face as well as the way she limped towards me; it had been a hard fight even for the enhanced.

She appeared to have no urgency when she first saw me, in fact she looked relieved to see me alive and unharmed. But that soon changed as the smoke from the battle lifted to reveal Clint lying in my lap.

At first she halted, as if too shocked to move or speak. I was too far away to tell her anything, so I simply looked up, hoping my gaze would be enough to explain as I didn't try to hide the misting of my eyes, before I turned my gaze back down towards Clint and gently touched the side of his face. His cheek was cool to the touch.

Wanda apparently needed more than my look to tell her what had happened, as she tentatively crept forward, as if there were still hope. But when she got close enough to see the two gun shot wounds in Clint's chest and abdomen, which still leaked thick dark red liquid, she froze. A shaky hand came up to her mouth to try and hide her sad, no - devastated, expression.

"He's not...?" She managed to ask, still unable to move.

I looked away from her. Her voice was too pained. She clung to too much false hope that I couldn't bare to confirm what had happened.

She, of course, needed to see for herself, and so she slowly lowered to her knees beside me. With a touch to his neck, her gaze fell.

I forced myself to try to explain what had happened, but words would eventually fail me.

"He just..."

Slowly died in my arms.

We both sat there in silence for the longest time. Wanda's head remained lowered. My gaze remained on Clint until a small spark of red caught my eye.

Wanda turned her hands slowly, in a gesture I had seen before. As she conjured up low sparks of red, I recognized the movement as what the Witch did to heal, some sort of healing charm. But I knew this wouldn't work, it would only cause her more pain.

As her hand neared Clint's chest, I put my hand over hers, and lowered it slowly.

"Wanda, he's...he's been gone for awhile now."

"We can't give up on him." She said as she sprung up to her feet.

"Not him. He wasn't supposed to leave us. He's the kind that gets to live. We can't give up, not on him."

Her voice didn't raise, it simply was filled with shock, urgency, and denial.

I saw red in her hands again. Assuming she wasn't giving up, I shook my head and looked up to her.

"There's nothing more we can do," I said as calmly as I could.

The red that was in her hand suddenly built up and shot past me and Clint, and in the distance I heard it explode on impact with a building. Looking at Wanda, I could still see red in her hands, though she didn't seem to have much control over her power at this point.

"Wanda-" I started, my voice gentle, but before I could say anything she was conjuring up a larger healing essence of red.

"Don't," I said firmly.

She didn't have much control as the red power fell out of her hand and made impact on the ground. I could feel the tremble in the ground from where I sat.

Looking down at Clint, it took everything I had to move him off my lap, and slowly lower his torso and head to the ground. It felt wrong, to leave him laying there alone in a pool of his own blood. But I knew he would want me to take care of Wanda.

She had managed to move away from me, identifying that she could have possibly hurt me. But as red continuously came from her hands, and with determination, I knew she was in shock.

I approached her slowly, but I narrowly missed streaks of red, not aimed at me, but unharnessed and uncontrolled. Finally upon reaching her side, I put my hand on her shoulder to bring her back.

"Wanda, please-"

I aimed to lower her hand, but she yanked it from me, and shot her powers outward. Her shot narrowly missed Clint's body.

Instinctively still protective of him, my voice became stern as I said finally,

"He's dead, Wanda."

For some reason I thought those words, the cold, hard, blunt, truth, would snap her out of this shock. With a flash of pain through my arm as a scarlet hex struck my arm and brought me to the ground, I realized I was wrong.

The pain from the blow rendered me useless for a moment, as I struggled to sit up. Looking down to see blood come from my arm where the hex had broke clean through my suit and skin, I knew my arm was likely broken. Gritting my jaw to manage the pain, I had almost managed to sit up with my one good arm when I felt the ground tremble beneath me, and another force come over me that rolled me over onto my back.

Once the red had cleared from my vision, I was able to comprehend what happened. Slowly rolling myself upward, as my head and arm throbbed with pain, I saw Wanda on her knees, surrounded by the ground that shattered from the impact of her uncontainable rage that escaped her when she collapsed. Shaking my head, I caught sight of the debris turned to dust around me, and that Clint, who I left laying on his back, laid on his side now.

"Oh god, Wanda..." I said under my breath, as I sat up slowly.

She didn't appear to hear me, as she kneeled there, her scarlet eyes wide, and her hands and legs shaking. As I painfully got to my feet, I reached out a hand towards her, but a cold, almost hostile scarlet gaze met mine.

I kept my hand outstretched, as I heard her say through a shaky voice, her voice wavering between signs of vulnerability, and threatening,

"Leave me alone."

I saw the coloring of her eyes vary and red streams of light pulse under his fingers, and I knew she was at her wits end of controlling her powers. Unfortunately, the only person who was ever able to talk her down when her emotions began to control her, was laying dead a few feet away from me.

And so I gave up. I wouldn't fight her anymore, because there was nothing I could say to help her.

Instead I let my head drop, and exhaled slowly as I painfully got up and limped back towards Clint. I kept my eye on her of course, and if I saw a large enough hex being formed I'd intervene again. But as much as I wanted to help her, I also understood that if I had powers linked to my emotions, that I too would be dangerous at this point.

Kneeling back down hurt, but I did it anyway. With carefully hands I turned Clint back on his back. The side of his face that was turned towards the ground was smeared with his own blood that pooled around him on the ground. I tried to wipe off the blood with my hand and then sleeve, but both were too bloodied and dirty to help. But just as I sat back, defeated and holding my now broken arm up in pain, I saw someone approach in my periphery. Turning around, I saw as Wanda, who still stood at my side but as far away as possible, took off her red jacket and handed it to me. I could tell she didn't want to her close, either because she didn't want to talk to me, or hurt me, or both. I wouldn't push her, so nodding in gratitude, I took the jacket with my good hand and used it to gently wipe the blood off Clint's face.

There were no words said between us, but as I handed Wanda back her jacket, she proceeded to lay it carefully over Clint's bloodied and bullet torn abdomen. I exhaled and bowed my head as she did. We wiped off his blood and hid his wounds from sight to help ourselves, to make looking at him more bearable. But nothing we did anymore could help him. Nothing we did was going to bring him back.

It was then that I felt a sudden relief from the pain in my arm and back, as I saw a quick flash of red. Looking up at Wanda as I saw her red eyes turn brunette, I nodded and said under my breath, "Thank you." She didn't say anything back, simply kept her distance for the longest time, before finally saying in that same shaky vulnerable voice, though I could tell by how thick her accent was that she was trying to cover up the pain in her voice.

"He was like a father to me."

I looked up at her and held her gaze as she finally kneeled down, and took his cold hand in her petite one.

"And he was all that I had left," she said finally, her gaze turning away from me, but her voice sharp.

She didn't and wasn't going to cry, but there was an unforgiving pain in her voice. It felt like an injustice not to tell her how it happened.

"He took them for me."

She didn't say anything, didn't even look at me with the blame and fury I was expecting. Instead she just looked down lovingly at Clint, as she brought his hand up to her chest and then kissed it gently.

Lowering his hand slowly to lie on his chest, she said finally, her voice barely audible as now the guilt began to take hold of her too,

"I should have been here. With him."

I shook my head and said softly,

"How were you to know something like this would happen? Our job, it's dangerous, we all know the risks -"

I was cut off as she looked up at me. The look in her eyes said it all. No matter what logic I threw at her, she would always feel guilty that she wasn't there to protect him, or even worse, that she wasn't there to say goodbye. And I knew, there were no words I could give her to take away that pain.

And so I stepped back, and let her say goodbye. She meant so much to Clint, and I knew he'd want me to do what was best for her. Stepping back so she could sit by him, as I limped back to begin collecting some of the stray arrows and bow he dropped, I swear I heard her say softly, lovingly, but evidently choking back tears in her voice

"I never thought I'd lose you too."

/

Memorial Day is is a federal holiday in the United States for remembering the people who died while serving in the country's armed forces. Hopefully, those reading this in America at least, understand what purpose I am trying to achieve in posting this chapter today. There will be some chapters where I flash back, so don't be discouraged about Clint not being in this story anymore. However, while however heart wrenching this chapter, and future chapters, may be to read, it is a reality that some actually have to live through. Please remember that this Memorial Day.


	4. Homecoming

**Haven't updated this, or any of my fics, in awhile because I've been on vacation in Europe. I just flew in from Rome today, and wrote this on the flight. Looks like I'm uploading yet another chapter on a holiday, and possibly through reading this it may allow some readers to give a little more thought to some values of this holiday. Clearly one of my main purposes is to show a connection between characters we all love, like Clint, and heroes in the real world. So Happy 4th Everyone, enjoy this chapter, and take a moment to reflect on our real heroes in uniform - for all Americans out there at least.**

 **/**

/ Laura's Point Of View \\\

Both the best and worst days that I can clearly remember were homecomings.

The best are countless, but all of them treasured memories.

I was training to be a nurse, and spent several years interning as a combat medic for SHIELD. I met Clint through work. In the beginning his work didn't get in between our relationship, as we dated for about three years before he was deployed to his first lengthy mission. I had lost contact with him two months into the mission, and had no idea when he was going to come back. But one day while I was filing paperwork in my small office, I heard his voice for the first time in four months.

"Fury's condoned you to paperwork? I'll have to have a talk with him about that," he said as he leaned against the doorframe.

I ran to him embrace in that doorway, but as soon as my arms were around him Clint was down on the ground. I worried maybe he was hurt, and couldn't bear my weight. That was until he was on one knee and pulling a small box out of his pocket. He would later tell me that he was caught in enemy crossfire, and in that moment of believing his life was almost over, all he regretted was not telling me how much he loved me.

The time he came home at nearly midnight on Christmas Eve, after I had to tell the kids that their dad wouldn't be home for Christmas, was another one that stood out. He swung by the store on the way home, and got himself and the kids Santa hats. Lila was too young to remember, but Cooper does - and still has the hat.

I was both proud but also sad at the fact that to the kids, the rest of Christmas was trivial. We raised our kids well, but part of the reason they had such good values, was because they were so grateful for the rare occasions they could spend time with their father.

I always drive the 10 mile drive to Cooper and Lila's school to pick them up. The car pool line can be ridiculous, so I always have them meet me at the top of the hill at the entrance of their school. But one afternoon, they weren't at the top of the hill. I was prepared to scold both of them - that was until I pulled up to see them tackling their father. He had his duffel bag thrown to the side, and was on his knees as the two embraced him tightly.

The carpool line took extra long that day, as many parents watched the scene Clint made for himself - some even got out of their car to shake Clint's hand and thank him for his service. Since Clint's identity couldn't be known by the public, we always claimed he was in the military. It was after one of his longest missions he ever had - nearly 8 months of being gone. I also got out of my car, and embraced him like the kids.

As he gently laid his hand on my cheek, I felt my eyes mist over. Clint promptly wiped away my tears with a quick touch of his thumb. It had been too long since I had felt his touch, looked into those warm grey blue eyes. I didn't want to make a scene - but eventually couldn't help but wrap my arms tightly around his neck and head. He kissed me softly, but I just ran my hand through his short hair and laid my head into his neck to hide my reddened eyes from the other parents and kids.

Of course there were harder homecomings. After Loki had corrupted him, he was very hesitant to talk about anything that happened - even to me. It took him months before he trusted himself enough to embrace the kids. He didn't sleep well, and though he tried to hide it, I knew it was because of Coulson. His caution around the kids eventually upset Cooper, so I urged him to see a doctor. I wasn't surprised when he came home with anti-depressants and a medication to help him sleep.

He was never officially diagnosed, but I always suspected that he developed severe PTSD because of what happened. He hid it well from the kids, but it wasn't unusual for me to wake up in the middle of the night and find him not beside me. Things slowly got better for him, but I always thought he would suffer from PTSD for the rest of his life.

Despite the countless memories of both joyous and difficult reunions with my husband, there was one homecoming that, sadly, I would always remember the most vividly.

It was late in the evening in early July. The kids were all asleep, surprisingly even Nathaniel, despite the rain. It was forecasted to rain for the next couple days, and the kids worried the rain would continue till the 4th and ruin any chance at fireworks. I was almost ready to head upstairs to bed, when I heard three knocks at the front door.

I almost wanted to mistake the knocks for thunder, seeing as it was so late. However they were spaced out in almost a rhythm, a distinct sound. The three knocks were code that it was safe to open the door.

As I opened the door, I immediately felt a gust of wind and rain rush onto my face. But through that, who I saw in the doorway was not who I was expecting to see.

Natasha was almost unrecognizable, as the rain had darkened and drenched her hair. I was so shocked and confused by her being here at this hour, that I didn't rush her out of the rain, or even greet her warmly. Green eyes that met mine were filled with almost guilt, pain, and sorrow. The look of sadness in her eyes confused me, until I saw what was in her hand. While one of her sleeves was not worn as she had a sling on, her unbroken hand held something I was all too familiar with: Clint's bow.

Of course then everything came together. The long black jacket she wore. The need to come here at this hour. The fact that her other arm was in a sling, and her face and neck covered with cuts and bruises. The rain wasn't the reason her avoiding gaze was watered and her cheeks wet. The reality I had been praying would never be realized, was here.

No words were needed for me to know why she was here. I understood the news she brought as soon as I saw his bow.

I didn't collapse to the ground, or feel tears overwhelm me, or even try to deny what I saw. I didn't act like I always thought I would. Instead - I felt my own gaze turn downward as I slowly placed my hand over my chest in comfort. I didn't feel the pain that caused me to place my hand there till several minutes later. Shock is like adrenaline, it numbed me temporarily.

I couldn't tell you what Natasha said next, as she tried to comfort me. I can't even remember what I was feeling or thinking. All I knew was in that moment, everything lost purpose.

The shock began to wear off as I began to feel the intense pain in my chest and hear Natasha say lowly,

"Come on, Laura. We can't stay out here."

I didn't move, but instead stood slightly hunched over in pain as I grasped at my chest. Natasha saw this, and with a hand on my shoulder guided me in and sat me down. It took me a minute to regain my breath. But once I did, I quickly pushed wet strands of hair out of my face and behind my ears as I said in a quiet but steady voice,

"I don't know how I'm going to tell the kids."

Natasha placed Clint's bow on the coffee table, but her hand remained on the bow for a moment. I saw sorrow fall over her face as she closed her eyes to blink back tears. It was all very real for her now - delivering what was now just a memory of her best friend back to his home. She saw me struggle with my words, and then with her free hand took mine, applying pressure in comfort. My eyes met hers,

"I don't know...what to do now. And I mean look at you, you're hurt. And..."

I was trying to keep my composure. I had always imagined that in this moment I would have to, for the kids.

But Eventually I just broke.

I lowered my head into my hands and cried. I struggled to breathe because of the stream of tears and the tightening of my throat and chest. I didn't even try to talk as my nose ran too much to breathe out of it. I went from feeling nothing, to feeling everything. Natasha eventually pulled me close to her. As I heaved for breath and leaned into Natasha's embrace, I had never felt so vulnerable. I buried my head into her shoulder as I wailed,

"Oh god Nat, why. God, why him!"

In that moment I think I truly thought I was questioning God himself. I would later realize that Natasha's embrace helped to muffle my cries. I would be thankful for that, because I wasn't ready for my children to wake. I wouldn't be able to comfort them as their mother, because I still in the process of accepting the fact that I was a widow.

I don't know how long I sobbed, but eventually I found myself sitting with slouched shoulders. My head was lowered, it felt like it was splitting from the inside out. Natasha was quiet as she kept a hand on my shoulder. I spoke more sanely now, but my voice quiet, broken, and sorrowful,

"How did it happen?"

Now it was Natasha who looked unstable, as a look of dread and guilt washed over her. At first she instinctively looked away from me, but after a moment she forced herself to hold my gaze. It was clear the pain of what happened was still raw for her, as she spoke as compassionately as possible - but her tone was still blunt. Harsh from the anger she felt at herself.

"He took three bullets for me. I wouldn't have let him, but it all happened so fast. By the time he pushed me, he..."

Her voice lowered and trailed off.

"He suffered didn't he?" I asked, knowing from her voice that the reason she couldn't talk about it, was because it would be too painful to tell me.

She seemed to blink back tears as she nodded. The fact that her face seemed to twist in pain and sorrow as she nodded was enough for me to know he died slowly and painfully.

"I held him as he bled out. I couldn't do anything, but watch him die in my arms." she finally said, hardly above a whisper.

I could tell she was trying to keep the details of my husband's death brief. She was trying to spare me more pain - but I did find the smallest comfort in knowing he didn't die alone.

"Where is he now?" I asked.

"I promised him I'd bring him home. Fury let me bring him here. He's in the quinjet." She said.

I felt my hand come up to grasp my forehead. Everything she said was overwhelming and impossible to process. But instinctually without even thinking, I said,

"I want to see him."

/

Natasha held an umbrella over us and offered me her black rain coat, as we walked through the storm and to the quinjet. We didn't exchange many words, as the ramp of the quinjet lowered, and from there I could see the red and white stripes of a flag draped casket. Natasha would explain to me at a later date that the National Guard was present when the battle was over, and offered the military casket when Natasha declared she needed to bring Clint home. The military knew of the Avengers, and offered a folded flag to honor him. But it was Natasha who decided to drape the flag over his metal casket. She wanted her best friend to come home for the last time like the fallen hero he was, and not simply be shipped home in a metal box.

Walking up to the casket, I placed my hand on top of the flag and lowered my head to my hand. I could feel the cool touch of the metal casket even through the flag, it was iced, typical military transport - no embalming, no autopsy. My stomach twisted at the fact that that if I were to request it open, I'd see the gruesome sight of my husband's body covered in bullet wounds and blood.

Raising my head finally, I saw as Natasha came up beside me and said as she too placed a hand on the casket,

"I told Fury it's up to you what to do next. I assumed you'd want him here, but if you need time to figure it out..."

I always thought that I would want him here too, perhaps buried at the top of the hill overlooking our house, under a large old tree. But in this moment, I realized that the sight of the casket was painful. And as selfish as it may be, I didn't want to feel that pain every time I glanced out the window. I didn't want my children's backyard to become their father's grave.

Perhaps it was the flag, or the fact that I knew what Clint meant to others. He was family to us, a hero to the world. I found myself talking almost aimlessly, as I looked back down at the red, white, and blue.

"There's an eternal flame that is lit at the grave of President John F. Kennedy. He was president decades ago, but people from all over the world still visit where he is laid to rest, to pay their respects and remember. He's not forgotten, he never will be..."

I looked Natasha in the eye, a newfound confidence suddenly in my posture and reddened eyes as I said,

"I want that for Clint. I want to take him to Arlington."

I knew he would never ask for it. He was humble, and I don't think he ever comprehended what he meant to his country, to the world. He deserved to be remembered and laid to rest like the hero he was. He deserved to have a place in history.

Natasha nodded without another word. I knew she would make it happen, seeing as she managed to bring him here now against Fury's liking. But I also knew that every thought of planning to bury Clint was painful for her. Regrettably, I was too absorbed in my own grief to realize the burden of arranging this all fell upon her. She fulfilled it dutifully, and we all ended up in Washington DC a few days later. But even as I found composure, in Washington Natasha still looked as broken as the night she came to me.

As it would end up, my kids were able to see fireworks on the 4th of July after all. We watched them fire over the Nation's Capitol. It was probably the most grand 4th of July I've ever witnessed, but neither my kids or myself had anything to celebrate. Unlike everyone else around us, we weren't in the Capitol to celebrate, but instead to bury a family member, a father, a husband, a fallen hero.

/

 **Note: Chapter named after the event of a soldier's homecoming, when they return home from deployment.**

 **The JFK reference is in there because he's one of my favorite presidents, and I got some influence for this chapter and future chapters from the movie Jackie.**


	5. Three Volley Salute

/ Cooper's Point of View \\\

The drive to D.C. was long, probably because it was nearly silent. Aside from Nathaniel's occasional cries of hunger or discomfort, neither Lila, Mom, or myself said anything. There was nothing to say.

That morning I had come down early like I usually did, to sneak out at sunrise to practice my shooting or just play. However my mom is never up that early, which is why I knew when I saw her sitting there with head bowed as she sat on the couch, that something was wrong.

Somehow I knew, probably because like my mom, this was my greatest fear. Unlike my siblings who were too young to hold such views of the world, I feared every day for my father's life. I knew the realities of his work.

"Mom," I said as I stood still at the bottom of the steps, not exactly wanting to approach her.

She lifted her head enough for me to see that clasped in her hands was my father's favorite plaid flannel. Her knuckles were white as she held onto it for dear life.

"Cooper." She said as if my name was foreign.

I was silent and still. My mother's voice broke at my name, and that hurt. It hurt to see her weep, to see her eyes red, to see my guardian and protector breaking down. I didn't want her to hold me, to comfort me, to tell me everything was going to be okay. In that moment I didn't want to share my sadness with her, or anyone.

"Coop, come on over there's uh, there's something we need to talk about," she said as calmly, as sweetly as possible. But the pain was still there.

"Dad's dead isn't he?" I asked bluntly.

She could never admit it. She tried to tell me in a way a mother would, in a way that would hurt less. But that was impossible. There was no way to word what happened without it hurting.

I ran away upstairs before she could tell me the euphemisms that she would later tell Lila:

"Daddy can't come home anymore," she would tell my little sister, holding her hands and brushing hair out of her confused eyes.

"What...why?"

It only made things worse. I love my mom dearly, but I wish she didn't treat us, treat me, like I can't handle or don't deserve the truth.

There was no easy way to put it. But oh my mother tried.

"He got very hurt at work, too hurt to come home."

"Well where is he going to go then? Can't we just go with him?" My sister pleaded.

"No, honey. Your daddy, your sweet brave father, has to go to heaven now."

Lila knew enough to know dad wasn't coming back, but she didn't understand. My sister had just turned six at the time. Some words were still foreign, including death. Of course you'd think my mom would have at some point tried to explain this beforehand knowing the chance, but then again it was my mother. She ignored any thought that this could happen.

Lila didn't like to see mom crying so she came to me with questions. She begged to know why he couldn't come back, why he was leaving us. I wouldn't hide anything from her. She deserved to know as much as I did how bad off dad was. Remembering back when we were driving as a family and saw a dead mangled deer on the side of the road, Lila was disturbed by the sight but my dad tried to explain to her that it was probably an old and sick deer, and not to be sad.

To try and get Lila to understand, I compared dad to that deer. She was upset by this naturally, but she stopped asking questions after that. I probably should have been more gentler to her, but she deserved the truth. I may have gotten the picture across but unlike my dad, I had no peaceful justification for any of this. Dad wasn't old. He wasn't sick, he wasn't weak. Realizing this all, it hit me that my dad was probably hurt far more than that deer before he stopped breathing.

I asked my mom in the car ride when she had nowhere to run from it,

"How did it happen, mom?"

She didn't reply.

I understand my mom's intentions were good, but if she wanted to shield us from the realities of violence and war, then she shouldn't have married an Avenger.

It was our first time in D.C., and despite the occasion, I was eager to sight see. However the only sight seeing my mom cared about in D.C. was Arlington. We got there early in the morning before any visitors could be there, escorted by men in uniform. My mom walked and walked until she found an isolated place on the side of a hill. It was lonely, however my dad often worked like that, a bit of a loner. Either way - it couldn't matter to him anymore.

The spot was beautiful though. Separated from the other rows of graves, it was almost a place of refuge from the hallowing grounds that surrounded it. Of course that would change when my dad was buried here, but still, I gave props to my mom for finding such a perfect place.

Later that day we would go see my father. Going up with my mom and siblings to him, I kept my head lowered until we had reached the front of the small chapel like area. I weaved behind my siblings and mom towards the end of the flag covered casket. Placing a hand on it, I gripped hard at the fabric as I looked up to the half of the casket that was open.

From where I stood I could only see the top of my father's head, but as I looked up to see my mother and she sibling's reaction to the sight of our dad like this, a feeling of discomfort fell over me.

My mother kept a strong face for us, but I saw the way she bit her lip to hold back tears. She needed to cry. Her breath was labored due to the overwhelming situation. After all, as she looked down at our father, she held his one year old son in her arms. She was more than capable of raising us alone, but the thought of being alone scared her. The thought of him being gone saddened her. And I wanted nothing more to embrace my mother, but in that moment I felt helpless to do anything but look away.

Lila freely let tears fall down her face as she saw how still and lifeless our dad was. But it was little Nathaniel that hurt the most.

Nate loved our dad. Whenever he came home, we all saw how our little brother would completely light up around him. Those bright grey eyes lightened with joy, and dimpled smile let out laughs of glee as he'd extend his arms for dad to pick him up. And our dad always would, laughing along with him, and gently rubbing his soft blonde hair and kiss his cheeks.

As I looked up at Nate, who was held in my mom's arms, I felt a sharp pang of hurt as I saw him reach out to my dad. His little arms stretching to try and touch him, to get his attention, as he smiled but then that smiled disappeared slowly as our dad didn't reach back.

My mom only lowered her head and cried into little Nate's soft blonde hair. I looked away, the whole scene unnatural and painful, and I slowly began to back up as I made my way to the back of the small chapel and sat down on a bench.

Mother, Nate, and Lila stayed up there with dad for quite awhile, and sometimes I could feel their gazes on me, but I wasn't going back up. Not to stare and watch as we all realized over and over again that our dad was gone. No, to look at him laying still and lifeless like that scared me at this point. It felt wrong, and I averted my gaze from him, and instead lowered my eyes to look at a Bible of all things - seeing as it was on the front of the bench as this was a Chapel. Opening up the book, I pretended to read scripture, but really it was a conversation between the two women who I considered aunts that I overheard and was distracted by.

As Natasha stood at the back of the chapel, in a black dress and jacket, trying to hide her broken arm in a sling under that jacket, eventually Wanda also walked in - also dawning a black dress.

Her eyes wandered to the front of the chapel where she saw my family gathered around my father.

"How are they?" Wanda asked, concern glazing over her eyes as she looked down the aisle towards my siblings and mother.

"As to be expected," Natasha replied shortly, yet I could almost feel her gaze on me.

There was a pause as Wanda took in the sight of my young siblings trying to take such a sight in. After a moment of silence, Wanda continued slowly,

"Losing a parent this early in life is..."

"Unimaginable." Natasha finished almost coldly, but that sharp tone wasn't in response to Wanda, but the situation.

There was a moment of silence before I saw movement as my mother and siblings seemed to be finishing up with their time with my father. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Aunt Wanda's petite form move towards the exit, when I heard Aunt Nat say to Wanda,

"You should say goodbye."

There was a pause as Wanda stopped, before lowering her head and shaking it. She hid her face and emotions from Natasha as she did.

"Wanda..." Natasha said almost softly, as she was about to approach her but then stopped as she looked down at her broken arm.

Aunt Natasha wasn't one to hesitate, but I could feel her hesitation now. And yet she spoke,

"You'll regret it if you don't."

I looked away as I saw Wanda pull her head up swiftly and almost glare at Aunt Nat. Even with my head down pretending to look at scripture, I could feel her burning gaze, and heard as she said almost coldly,

"You think this is the first time I've been through this?"

Natasha was silent, and my mind wandered to what Wanda could be referring to, until I remembered Little Nate's middle name.

"Just like Pietro, I never got to say goodbye. And I never will be able to."

I couldn't help but feel the same way in a sense as Aunt Wanda. I wasn't with my father when he died, hell - I don't even know how he died. All I knew was that was left of him laid still at the front of this room, and i couldn't bring myself to go up there to him.

Eventually Wanda, and even my mom and siblings left. I assumed I was in the chapel by myself when Natasha walked up to me and kneeled down next to me.

"Do you want me to take you to your family?" She asked softly.

I shook my head. I didn't want or need their 'comfort' right now. The thought of sharing sorrow with them felt uncomfortable at this point. But I did scoot over on the bench to allow for Natasha to sit down next to me, which she did slowly. We sat there together in silence for a few minutes, my head down, and her's upward looking towards my dad.

"Have you gotten to see much of DC?" She asked calmly.

"Only Arlington. My mom says we'll see more later, but I don't know if that will happen."

She didn't exactly look at me as she attempted to make light conversation. I began to suspect both from her evasion of eye contact and the broken arm that she was with my father when he died.

"Well, I'll be here until you leave. If your mom isn't up for it and you are, I'd be happy to take you to any museums or monuments you'd like to see."

It was a generous offer, but there was really only one thing I wanted from her at this point.

"Were you with my father when it happened?" I asked suddenly.

This time her emerald gaze did meet mine, and within it, a sense of hurt. I felt bad for asking so suddenly, but as she spoke in a relaxed tone I knew she valued me knowing the truth.

"Yes I was." She said in a hushed voice, her gaze couldn't help but look up at my father as she spoke.

"How did he die?" I asked almost hesitantly.

Her gaze lowered away from my father as she looked at me with sadly furrowed brows and yet a relaxed gaze as she asked,

"Your mother didn't tell you what happened?"

I shook my head.

"My mom won't talk about him." I said, my voice almost admitting how upset I was over that fact.

Aunt Nat's gaze lowered sadly as she placed a hand over mind and looked at me gently and said,

"Don't be too hard on your mom, Cooper. She's just trying to make this easier for you, as hard as that sounds."

I looked down, knowing she was right, but at the same time still frustrated. She wanted what was best for us, and yet, couldn't give us a good explanation of why we lost our dad.

"He was shot trying to save me."

There was a distant look in her eyes as she looked up towards my dad as she said this.

"Shot where?" I couldn't help but ask immediately. For some reason, I felt I needed to know in that moment.

"His hip, stomach, and chest." She answered softly, almost through a breath, those still eyes never wavering from my dad.

I looked downward feeling a rather hard twist in my stomach at the thought of how that happened. I almost felt my mother right for keeping it from us as I couldn't help but imagine the pain he was in. How bloody and terrible it must have been. Even by contrast of how presentable and peaceful he looked now, I knew it didn't happen that way, that beyond that appearance my dad was full of the bullet holes that killed him. And that only made me want to put him out of my mind even more.

"Are they still in him? The bullets?"

It was a childish question I would realize in hindsight, but it was all I could think of in that moment. Natasha smiled sadly and shook her head,

"No Coop, they aren't."

But I knew the holes were. The holes in his body, his heart, his organs, whatever path the bullets carved through my dad that killed him were still there. The damage done to him was irreversible, as evident to the fact that he wasn't breathing anymore.

"Did you try to save him?"

She nodded slowly, eyes closing long and hard before she stifled a breath and said.

"I did. I tried my very hardest to bring him back home to you."

I only felt a frown come over me as I nodded and said,

"Why did he leave us if it was so dangerous? He knew this could happen, right?"

In all honesty, I didn't know the realities of my dad's work. I always knew it was dangerous to a degree, but I always imagined him getting hurt by fluke accidents - and not that he was a soldier being shot at, aimed at. It made me admire but also hate his work at the same time.

"He and I have always known the risks. But he was good at his job, good at saving people."

She must have known I wasn't exactly satisfied with that answer as she continued,

"Leaving you was never easy for him. I can't remember a single long mission where he didn't break down with regret for leaving you and your mother. But, as hard is it may be to believe, he was doing it to protect you and others like you."

I dropped my head to hide further dissatisfaction. I was so used to everyone telling me that my dad was a hero, but I didn't see how we were in danger. Why he felt he could only protect us by leaving us.

"He never could retire fully because he couldn't stand ideally when others needed help. He had a skill, and he knew it, and he used that skill to save hundred, millions of lives." She began slowly.

I wasn't entirely sure she was exactly talking to me, or just speaking her thoughts aloud. But still I listened.

"I know it's hard to understand why, but he saw dangers that he couldn't unsee. And he faced them so others didn't have to."

"I wish it was others that did. I wish it wasn't him." I said sharply, daring to look up at my dad at the front of the chapel before dropping my head again.

I felt a soft pressure around my arm as Natasha wrapped her arm around me and held me closer, as she said softly - in a voice so soft and almost motherly, I didn't expect to ever hear such a tone from Aunt Nat.

"I do too."

She rubbed her arm against mine for a minute, before she continued, her voice fondly reminiscent,

"We'd often get so caught up fighting and what not, but it was your dad who usually was the one pulling people out of buses, or carrying kids or those who were hurt to safety."

As selfish as it was, I still wished it had been someone else who had to go away and protect, fight, avenge. I wished my dad didn't have to be the hero. But as I listened to Natasha's stories of him, stories he was too humble to ever tell us, I'd eventually learn that fighting and protecting were what my father was born to do.

It was quiet between us for sometime, when Natasha finally stood up and said

"I'm going to go see your father now."

There was a pause as she looked down at me,

"Come with me," she offered quietly.

I looked up at her, and my discomfort and fear must have shown through my eyes for she inhaled slowly and knelt down and took my hands.

"It's going to be okay."

I shook my head, bit my lip, and tried to hide my reddening and tearful face.

"I don't want to..."

Her thumb gently caressed over my hand as she looked down and then towards me softly.

"I know. It's hard, I know." She said in a hushed voice, applying pressure to my hands.

"Don't be scared, Cooper." She said as she looked down the aisle and towards my father.

"It's just your dad."

Those simple words seemed to pull it all together - that the lifeless body we walked towards together was still the same man who loved me. It's hands were the same hands that cradled me as an infant. His closed mouth once instructed me in his art of archery that I hoped to learn from him. From far away it was easier to forget, to try and convince myself it wasn't him. But as I walked up to him, I felt my stomach twist and my heart drop because he looked like my dad.

Natasha put her hand on my shoulder as she heard me stifle back tears. It was hard not to cry when everything was now so up close, so real. But at this point, I walked out of her hold and right up to him. Only after a moment's hesitation did I extend a hand to place it over my dad's folded ones which rested over his torso.

"He's so cold." I said.

"I know," Natasha said almost defeatedly, but at the same time her voice was accepting and peaceful.

My smaller hand grasped harder around his larger hand. It felt wrong not to feel him embrace me back, but to lay there still, lifeless, without that loving expression that he could never hold back around me.

"Hey dad..." I managed to say through a chocked and tearful voice.

I wanted to say more to him but found myself standing in silence and simply looking at him, trying to take in the fact that this was really him. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Natasha approach the side of his head, and lean down to say something too soft for me to hear as she looked down at him with sad yet almost loving eyes. He really was family to her, I realized in that moment. Her sadness and love almost equalled that of my mother's. To her, he was more than a friend and comrade.

"I'm going to teach myself to shoot." I continued.

"Then I can protect mom and Lila and Nate."

I gripped his cold hand tighter.

"I'll look after them, I promise."

Natasha laid a hand on top of his head and gently kissed his forehead before looking at him for a long silent moment, and then finally pulling herself away. As she approached me, she said,

"You should be proud of him."

I nodded slowly as I let go of his hand. I was proud of him, even if it hurt, I knew what he had worked for his whole life was something to be proud of. And one day, I'd follow after him.

"I am."

"He was proud of you too."

I nodded, unable to find the words to say in response. Natasha began to walk away, and she tried to lead me but that was when I looked up to her almost frantically, not realizing my time was up.

I slipped under her arm and walked quickly back to him. Time felt as if it was fleeting as I spent those last seconds with him. Of course, Natasha would have given me the time I needed - but that time wasn't endless. I knew I had to let him go.

"I love you, Dad."

The first time I heard a gunshot was at my dad's funeral when seven servicemen shot the three volley salute. It would be a sound I'd eventually become accustomed to, but in that moment I flinched at every shot. I was thirteen years old when my dad died, and everything about what happened scared me. However in the coming weeks I would have to let go of all those fears. I promised my dad otherwise.

It was cloudy over Arlington as the air carried a smell of rain to it. I can't remember much from the ceremony itself, except that as my mother embraced my sister and brother I shied away. I didn't want their comfort in that moment. I wanted to grieve my dad by myself. And as the bugle played a song I would later learn as Taps, I wrapped my arms around my chest and breathed in slowly. As that somber tune rolled over the peaceful hills of these hallowed grounds, I looked at my father's flag draped casket and for the first time I sunk in how alone I was.

The flag over his casket was eventually folded up and the shells from the three volley salute were collected. I watched as a serviceman was about to give my mom the folded flag, until she nodded at Nate in her arms, and instead looked towards me.

The serviceman nodded and slowly approached me, removing his cap slowly as he did. His eyes were gentle as he kneeled to be on my level, and he was quiet for a moment as he looked at the folded flag in his gloved hands and then me.

"This flag is presented on behalf of a grateful nation as a token of appreciation for your loved one's honorable and faithful service."

It was scripted, I knew that. But the deep empathy in such a man's voice wasn't, and neither was the act of him placing a hand on my shoulder as he said,

"Your dad was a hero, son. Never forget that."

As the serviceman slipped the folded flag into my arms and rose to his feet with a salute towards me, with the flag in my hand I felt empowered by his words. Looking around at the small private service, I knew that this wasn't a representation of who my dad had an impact on.

After the service was done and my dad buried and memorialized, thousands would come to pay respects to him. They didn't know him, probably couldn't even identify him without his suit and bow and arrow. But like the serviceman who very clearly respected my dad, they all were grateful for him. The world wouldn't forget him.

It would be impossible to ever live up to what my father did for me, my family, his team, the world. But as the years went by I'd grow to appreciate his work as I saw him never forgotten by the public. His folded flag sat on our mantle, but my mom let me keep the three shells from the 21 gun shots. I kept them in my dresser drawer.

At nights when I pulled them out to hold the cold metal shells in my hands, I felt a pang in me knowing it was three similar bullets that were the reason my father wasn't with us anymore. It felt injustice that a man like my father was brought down three shells small enough to all fit in the palm of my hand. But I learned at an early age that the world was injustice, and that was why my father had fought - and why I would continue his work when I came to age.

/

A long-standing military tradition the ceremonial shooting of three volleys in honor of the deceased. The meaning of the tradition is to was to honor the dead by showing their weapons were no longer hostile. The three spent shell casings are presents to his or her next of kin.

At the end of the service, the flag is removed from the casket and carefully folded by the honor guard. Each fold represents something different and at the end only the stars are left showing on the top. Once the flag has been properly folded, a few of the shells may be inserted into the back fold before it is presented to the next of kin with an expression of gratitude for the sacrifice they have made.


	6. I Miss You, Daddy

[ Lila's Point of View ]

School had just gotten out a few weeks ago, and so my brothers and I were used to sleeping in and then waking up to our mom baking us some sort of breakfast. It was different each day, sometimes as simple as just setting out cereal, but she was always there for us like that.

So as I came down our staircase to a quiet house and looked into the kitchen to see it bare and untouched I already felt something off. Each one of my footsteps echoed through the house as I looked around to find my mom, grasping my little dog stuffed animal tighter. The thought of not knowing where she was - of possibly losing her too - was always on my mind ever since I learned it was possible to lose a parent.

But as I walked towards the living room I saw her sitting on the couch, and relief filled me as I ran over to her.

"Mommy, you scared me." I said quietly as I approached her with my stuffed toy close over my mouth to hide my sadness and fear.

But as I came up to her, I saw she was looking down to a black curved stick in her hands. Cooper had something similar, a smaller one, that he would storm out of the house with and shoot arrows with when he was sad, angry, or even just bored.

But this one was too big for Cooper to hold. My mom was silent, didn't even acknowledge me as her eyes gazed down at the black object sadly.

After pulling myself up on the couch next to her, I reached a hand out to carefully touch the object. At its cool touch, it suddenly came back to me - this was what my dad used to use on missions.

"Mommy?"

This time she did pull her eyes off the object and to me quietly, waiting for me to ask,

"What are you doing with Daddy's..."

I forgot the word for it.

My mom smiled, though it didn't seem like a smile because she didn't look happy, but sad.

"Bow," she corrected me softly.

My mouth opened in an "Ah" - nodding before looking back at her for an answer. My mom was being very quiet today.

Her grip on the bow tightened as she remained silent before laying it down on her lap and saying softly, her voice was so quiet that, the times she had been sick or really tired.

"I was just, pulling it out to think of him."

I nodded, half understanding as I reached out to touch it. It didn't really make me think of my daddy, but it seemed to be making my mom very sad. I didn't want her to be sad though.

"Why?"

"Well...when someone you love is no longer with you, it's sometimes nice to take a moment to remember all they meant to you - and how they are still with us." She answered quickly, as if she knew I was going to ask that.

I nodded, thought my mom must have seen my confusion as she continued as her eyes met mine this time and she held my hand.

"It's just...me and your brother may not have the easiest day today, okay? Because..."

Her gaze dropped and her hold on my hand tightened as if afraid I'd slip away. It almost hurt how tight she held me, which made me scared for what she was going to say next.

"Well, because you know a year ago today was the day daddy left."

"Left to go to heaven?" I asked.

My mom bit her lip and blinked as she nodded. It was confusing seeing her so emotional - and it was hard to comprehend how she had remembered.

It had been awhile since we talked about daddy. And suddenly I felt a little bad, that I had let him slip from my mind for so long.

My mom was right though, Cooper was very quiet and refused to play with me today. He used his bow to shoot though, I could hear the thud of his arrows against the barn from my room. He got mad at me later that day for no real reason, but I think it's because he's just sad so I didn't fight back. Our dad never liked when we fought after all - and I remembered what my mom said about keeping a part of him with me.

That night after dinner, everyone seemed to go to bed early so I went to my room. But I couldn't sleep. It took awhile before the thoughts of today finally caught up with me, and I slid to the edge of my bed to where I could see the stars outside.

I got on my knees and put my hands together like they told us to do at preschool when we talked to God. I didn't know if it would work though, because I didn't want to talk to God. I was in 2nd grade now, so it's hard to remember preschool. But I hoped, if I accidentally did talk to God, that maybe he'd pass on my message.

"It's been a year daddy, and I really miss you. It's been awhile since we talked about you, but we went to see you on Memorial Day. Mommy also took us to see all these fun museums. I had fun, but I think Cooper was still sad, or didn't like the museums. I don't know..." I trailed off, thinking of our trip to DC a few months back.

"Mommy gets really sad when she talks about you, but she tells us it's okay to be sad. That you won't be mad if we cry."

I was quiet for a minute as I tried to think what else I wanted to tell my daddy. I gripped my little dog stuffed animal harder as I tried to concentrate.

"I asked Cooper if you can see us, but he didn't answer. Cooper doesn't like to talk about you. But I think you can see us, because Heaven is far away - too far for us to visit you, Mommy says. But you always told us, that you can see better from a distance."

I looked up out at the dark sky and the stars above. I didn't expect a reply, but it did make me sad to think I'd never hear my dad again.

"I wish I could see you again, Daddy. I love you."

[]

As the bus rolled to a stop, I stepped down off of it and onto the small dirt road that lead to home. Gripping my backpack hard over my shoulder, I felt the cool autumn breeze on my cheek. Looking around, the trees were already changing colors - which managed to bring a smile to my face. Fall was my favorite time of the year.

As I walked down the hill towards our house, I could see my mom on the porch reading with Nate playing in the leaves around her. It was hard to believe he started Kindergarten a few weeks back - almost as hard as to realize that I was in middle school, and my brother was in his senior year of high school.

Passing by Nate, I kicked up some leaves for him and he laughed as he chased them blissfully. His grey blue eyes always bright with joy - as if he knew no sorrow in the world. And he didn't, not compared to the rest of my family. He was too young to remember the hard past most of us carried with us. But somehow his happiness hurt, it hurt that he didn't share what me and my brother did - that he didn't have the privilege to know our dad.

Climbing up the porch stairs I let my backpack slide off my back heavily as I fell back into a chair beside my mom, exhausted.

"Long day?" She asked calmly as she flipped through her book.

I nodded slowly, looking out over our leaf covered yard.

"Yeah we have this project that's stressing me out a little."

My mom didn't look at me, but I could tell from the tenderness in her voice her care was genuine.

"Well maybe I can help. What's it on?"

"Oh, nothing important. It's just overwhelming." I said quickly, dismissively as I stood up and grabbed my pack.

"I'm just going to go in and work on in it."

Later that evening after dinner I found myself at my desk struggling to focus on my schoolwork. When a soft autumn breeze blew in and carried a paper off my desk and to the foot of the window, I sighed as I stood up to retrieve it.

Reaching down for the paper, my eyes wandered towards the sky outside: the brilliant blue and purple sky visible only because we lived in the country. A sense of peacefulness fell over me as I looked up at that twilight sky littered with vibrant stars and a clear full moon .

Exhaling slowly, I sat back down at my desk, but my gaze remained on the window. My grey eyes, gazed skyward as a natural instinct took over,

"It's been 5 years, daddy."

"You won't believe it, but Nate started school this year. He's doing good in Kindergarten, my Mom always says how he reminds us of you - and it's true. He has your eyes, hair, even personality really. I wish he could have the memories of you that Cooper and I share."

I inhaled slowly, lowering my head realizing that if my dad could actually hear me - he probably didn't want to be reminded of the son who would never know him.

" I'm in middle school now, it's a little scary - and overwhelming - but it's nothing I can't handle. I'll get used to it I guess."

My voice was low, and though I'd lower my head often as I spoke - my eyes always returned to that window.

"Cooper's going to graduate high school next year, and its really freaking my mom out." I said almost with a laugh, until my gaze dropped and my grip on the paper tightened.

"But I suppose it's freaking me out too. He wants to enlist in the Army next year. Mom is trying to talk him out of it. But I know you...you'd probably be proud of him."

My voice lowered, as I said - realizing my confessions almost felt shameful.

"I'm sorry, dad. We should be more supportive of Cooper, but after what happened to you, I guess we're just scared. We don't have you here to tell us to be brave."

Looking down at the paper in my hand, I switched topics to a thought that really hung over my head.

"We're writing an essay in school about a role model in our life. I think I am going to write my paper about you."

Looking down at the paper I saw stains of tear droplets, but I didn't care.

"It's hard to remember you sometimes, dad. I try really hard to remember your voice, but sometimes I can't..."

"But I can still see your face when I close my eyes. Don't think I'll ever forget you - even if I can't remember everything. I think about you a lot, more than I admit. I put on a happy face all the time, for my friends, for my family - but it hurts to think about you."

I rubbed the back of my hand under my eyes to dry my cheeks as I continued.

"Cooper taught me how to shoot. He always says I'm not as good as him, but mom tells me otherwise. She said that I'll be hitting bullseyes in no time, that I have your aim."

I felt a small smile creep upon my face at the thought of sharing my dad's skill.

"I don't think Cooper or I will ever be as good as you were though. But I hope you can see me when I shoot, so you can watch me hit my first bullseye."

Suddenly, after talking with my dad for that short period of time it came to me. The ideas I was struggling with for that essay seemed to come together perfectly. With determination I put pen to paper, and looked back at that window one more time before I began my work.

"I miss you, Daddy. I hope you know that you are my hero."

[]

We found ourselves in Washington DC, but for once not for the purposes of visiting my father's grave. Cooper had been admitted into the military hospital on Marine Corps Base Quantico, and we all dropped everything to drive down and see him. I drove most of the way, because my mom was so physically and emotionally unstable, I couldn't let her drive. Perhaps it was the protective nature I inherited from my dad - but I felt the need to take care of my very vulnerable mother.

Cooper had been on a Co Op mission with Steve Rogers of all people, serving as a sniper, as he usually did. My brother was a Staff Sergeant in the US Army, though since he had connections to the Avengers through our dad - and he spent several months training with Steve and even Natasha - the Avengers sometimes recruited him as well. My mom was not happy about this in the least, neither was Natasha for that matter. But my mom always said Cooper was even more stubborn than our father - and that was saying something.

He needed surgery because he had dislocated a disk in his spine after being in close proximity of an explosive. The thought of surgery scared my mother half to death, but Natasha talked me through the procedure and I realize my brother was nowhere near life threatening conditions.

My mom and Nate ended up staying with Cooper while Aunt Nat offered to take me around D.C. My brother was quite miserable to be around when he was sad or in pain - and so I quickly took Aunt Nat up on her offer.

After going to many places among them a spy museum and a shooting range, on our way back to the hospital I requested we stop at Arlington. It felt wrong not to.

Natasha was keen enough to sense I wanted to be alone. It was near sundown when I had found that solitary hill, and made an ascent towards that marble slab which had an arrow engraved in it.

Kneeling down upon the grass, I couldn't help but remember the first time we came here as kids - and how every year since we made an annual trip on Memorial Day. Running my fingers over my father's engraved name, I smiled sadly as I let my palm lay on the cold stone for a moment. There were always cards or flowers here, not from us, but ordinary people who still remembered the Fallen Avenger - as my father became known as.

I had to admit, it hurt to know that that was what my father was known for: being the first Avenger to fall. But then again, I did find some comfort in knowing his sacrifice, my family's loss, was never forgotten.

This was the first time I had ever been alone here, and I didn't even realize my thoughts were being spoken out loud as I said,

"It's been ten years, daddy."

I inhaled slowly, pressing my fingers into that cold stone.

"It hasn't gotten any easier, and I'm starting to think it never will be. But that's okay. It shouldn't be easy."

My hand finger traced over the words, "Avenger" and "Hawkeye" on the gravestone.

"Cooper is hurt, and that's why me, mom, and Nate are here. I'm sure you've been looking out for him, making sure he shoots straight. And part of me knows you protect him as well, and that makes him being deployed a little easier."

My voice trailed off and I looked down at the ground.

"Natasha took my shooting today. I was better than most of the people there, but I think it's because it runs in the family." I said with a small proud smile.

"But it doesn't hurt to get Natasha's teachings. I'm not as good as you yet."

I laughed to myself sadly, eyes dropping towards the grass where I kneeled.

"I don't think anyone can be as good of a shot as you were."

There was a long moment of silence, as I simply looked at the stone with my dad's name engraved in it. I felt closer to him then I had when I had talked to him in the past, and it felt both comforting and yet also saddening.

"I know you're always with me, but sometimes I feel alone. High School isn't easy, dad. A lot of my friends in middle school have found other interests than me - and sometimes I feel like I don't fit in."

I grabbed my arm tightly, nervously as I admitted this social struggle that I had not spoke of to anyone - even my mom.

"But then again, you probably felt the same way when you joined the Avengers. Fitting in with gods and monsters must have been tough."

"Sometimes I think that my friends may be worse than monsters though. The same people who supported me when you died, are now pushing me away whenever I'm upset about Cooper. It's hard to be that one girl who's brother is always away at war, and who doesn't have a dad. I don't want my friends to pity me, but they do...and sometimes I think they avoid me because they don't know what to say to me. I don't know, it's hard, dad."

My head lowered as I admitted softly,

"Sometimes I feel like a burden, dad. To my friends, maybe even my family. My friends are so outgoing and optimistic and I...well I'm more shy and, sometimes I get sad. I don't like to be sad, but I can't help it sometimes. I hope you know, that I try not to be sad about you...it's just hard..."

I looked down at the ground below me, knowing my dad laid under me.

"I don't blame you, I just, wish my friends were more understanding. If they knew you, they would understand why it's hard for me to be happy sometimes."

I stifled back a small sniffle, as I sat up straight and looked towards the setting sun and the golden hue it casted over Arlington.

"Despite struggling with my emotions sometimes, I am doing well in school. I challenged myself this year to take AP Physics and AP Statistics this year. I'm also co-captain of the Speech and Debate team, and principle player in my orchestra. I may not be able to shoot a bow as well as you or Cooper, but I can definitely use my Cello bow pretty well."

I laughed a little as my finger traced his name.

"I have a solo coming up that I'm pretty nervous about. I've never had a solo before, but I've practiced a lot - and when I play it, I know you'll be in the audience listening. I'll play loud enough for you to hear."

I smiled sadly as I looked down at his name, a name so foreign and yet also much too familiar.

"I'm starting to look at colleges. Mom is happy about that, and thinks I have potential as an engineer. I want to major in music though...but I don't know if I can find a job in it."

"I wish you could have been apart of my life more, dad. I wish I could remember you as well as mom, or have as fond memories of you, like Cooper. But unlike Nate, at least I can distantly remember the time you were with us. But remembering just makes it harder sometimes. Maybe Nate has it lucky...he doesn't know how good we had it when you were here."

The sun was getting lower and I could barely read my dad's name on the stone now.

"I hope you're proud of me."

I kissed my hand and then touched that hand to the gravestone as I finally stood up, saying at last.

"Not a day has gone by when I haven't missed you, Daddy."

[]

It's been nineteen years since I have been in a church - the church where your funeral was held. Mom stopped taking us to church after that. She was mad at God for taking you from us. But don't worry dad, she didn't resist coming to church today.

She helped me get into my dress and ensure my light brown hair was tucked up neatly in a bun under my veil. She shed a tear, not just in happiness or being emotional of the fact that I was growing up, but that it dawned on her that I have your light brown hair and your grey eyes.

Aunt Nat gave me the arrow necklace you gave to her so long ago. I didn't want to accept it, but I couldn't refuse such a gift. Don't worry, I'll give it back to her eventually. But I think it's a nice touch, a little piece of you to carry with me today.

I know you are happy for me, because I know you would approve of Ben. In the three years we've dated he has always supported my decision to drop my psychology major and pursue a degree in music. Unlike my friends who left me out of discomfort when I grew sad about you, or Cooper, Ben has always stayed by my side and supported me through hard times. Mom really likes him too, and even Cooper approves of him - which is saying something, as we all know he doesn't get along with everyone easily.

Tony, Steve, Cooper, and even Aunt Nat all offered to walk with me. But I had to refuse them all. Their offers were generous, touching even, but I also knew they were unnecessary.

As I prepared to walk down that aisle, mom pulled me into a soft embrace as tears welled up in her brown eyes.

"I just wish your father could have been here today."

Hugging her back, I told her what I knew to be true as he let my hand caress her shaking form.

"He is, mom."

And now as I walk down the aisle, my gaze falls upon my fiancé - who looks at me with all the love and longing in the world. I'm surrounded by dear friends and family on both sides of the aisle. Though some of them have sympathy in their eyes for the fatherless bride to be, I also can see the pride in Cooper's eyes as he watches me in uniform, while leaning on to the bench - he's still getting used to the prosthetic leg.

Amongst all the love and joy here in this small church, I realize how lucky I am to be so well loved. But as I walk down that aisle physically alone, I know that's not really the case.

As I walk down this aisle, I know you're with me, daddy. You've been with me every step of the way. And even if I can't see or hear you, I know that I'm never alone. That even though I miss you, you are still very much apart of my life - and always will be.

* * *

This chapter was heavily inspired by the 9/11 Tribute on YouTube called "I Miss You Daddy". With the 16th anniversary of 9/11 just passing, I thought it was appropriate to write.


	7. Veterans Day

[ Laura's Point of View ]

/ 2 Years Prior to Clint's Death \\\

While I heard the buses brakes squeal, and I did not expect Cooper and Lila to run into the house so quickly afterwards. It was a brisk fall day, and with having raked the leaves in our yard into piles, I was sure Cooper would have leapt into them as he always did. But instead the two threw the door open, and came rushing into the kitchen with such urgency. Before I could ask what was going on, Lila leapt onto the couch and excitedly announced with a proud smile on her face,

"Mommy! We talked about Daddy in class today."

My brow raised cautiously, unsure of what I was about to hear would be a security concern or not. The kids were usually pretty good about keeping Clint's identity secure, but I could never be too cautious.

"For Veterans Day." Cooper interjected with a half smile, as he made his way into the kitchen for an after school snack.

"Ah," I said somewhat relieved, as that did fall in line with his identity that we kept for him in our community.

I gave young Lila, who was just in 2nd grade at the time, a gentle smile as I sat down next to her on the couch.

"So tell me dear, what did you learn today."

"Well, I am excited we have tomorrow off - but I am even more excited that it's for Daddy! I didn't know he had his own day."

I smiled, almost laughing lightly as I wrapped my arms around my young daughter.

"Yes, it is exciting to not have school tomorrow. We will have to do something fun."

Lila nodded her head excitedly, her grey bye eyes, so like her Father's, held a glint of pure joy.

"You have tomorrow off because of Veterans Day though, which isn't exactly a day just for Daddy - but it works."

"It's a day for people in the Army, Lil." Cooper corrected as a grabbed a chocolate pudding and began to dig into it.

"Oh, well we only say Daddy is in the Army to keep his real job a secret. I guess my teacher got confused." Lila said with a shrug, slight disappointment filling her eyes.

"Well no, your teacher was still right to say tomorrow's holiday does relate to your dad." I began, as I moved closer to Lila and easily lifted her upward into my lap.

"You see, Veterans Day is a day to recognize, remember, and thank those who risk their lives for our safety. We call these fighters, these soldiers, veterans. Your daddy may not be an Army soldier, but he does the same job that those in the military do."

Lila nodded, though I could tell as I brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes that she was confused.

"Why do they have a day just for them though?"

"Well Lila, you know your dad's work is hard. He has to spend a lot of time away from home, away from you two who he loves very much." I said, glancing over at Cooper as I did.

"What your dad and Aunt Nat do can be scary sometimes, they don't know if they are going to get hurt or worse when they fight. But that never keeps them from fighting, fighting to keep us safe."

I let Lila's small hand slide into my own as I asked her then.

"Don't you think people as brave as your daddy deserve a day of thanks?"

She smiled and nodded eagerly, before she jumped to another question.

"We wrote cards to soldiers today in class. Can I make a card for dad, and then you can help me mail it tomorrow?"

I smiled and embraced Lila warmly, pride filling me at the sweet nature she possessed. "Absolutely dear."

As Lila ran upstairs to begin on her drawings for a card for Clint, I made my way back into the kitchen to see Cooper silently texting on his phone.

"You have to love your sister's enthusiasm." I said lightly as I began to clean his bowl, trying to spark conversation.

"Yeah." He replied dully, but I could tell something was on his mind.

"Hey mom, can I go with my friend Max on a trip tomorrow? His dad is taking him up to the lake to go fishing and hiking, and Max said I could join."

I shrugged my shoulders and said gently, "Don't see why not!"

Cooper nodded slowly, lethargically, and slid off his chair to retreat upstairs. Instinctually, I knew something was off in his behavior.

"Coop. Is everything going okay? School's good?" I inquired gently, with a concerned gaze.

He stopped halfway up the staircase and thought for a moment in silence before saying, "I'm fine, mom," he said dully.

"Are you sure, because-"

"No mom, it's nothing you can help with." He interrupted, gripping the staircase railing tight as he did.

He did this sometimes, pent up his emotions and then they spilled out violently at some point. I crossed my arms and listened carefully for what he had to say.

"You fantasize Veterans Day and dad to Lila. You shouldn't do that. At my school, at my age, it doesn't mean anything, it's just a day off. And dad's work is much more than hard. He won't even talk to us about it."

I shook my head slowly as I said, "I know you wish he would tell you more about the missions he goes on, but you know he doesn't like to talk about it anymore."

"He's scared." Cooper scoffed, somewhat disrespectfully.

While the disrespect towards his father was enough to make me livid, I knew it stemmed from emotions. So keeping my cool, I exhaled and said,

"Yes, he is."

"Then why leave us? Why can't he just stay home if he's scared? Why can't he be like a normal dad, and find a job around here, so that we all could go on trips when we have days off? So he could finally teach me how to shoot like he promised he would."

Cooper's voice began to crack, and just as he was about to rush upstairs I spoke firmly.

"Because his work is important, Coop. Because he's scared of what has happened, but that doesn't stop him from working towards what he knows is right."

"There are so many others though. The team doesn't really need him, why can't he just come home?"

Cooper's voice was desperate at this point, and so I tried to embrace him but he pushed me away.

"It's hard, I know it is Coop. He's been away since July, and I can't tell you where he is or what he's doing. But he is the team's sniper, their eye in the sky. He has a job, a very important one. We have to support him, be proud of him."

"But I don't want to be proud. I just want my dad."

Cooper eventually stormed off, and while I wanted to lecture him, to make him understand, I knew I couldn't. Because like my son, I too had nights where I cried out for my husband, where I wished away his career and duty for the chance to have him safe at home with me.

But Clint, like a few other rare individuals, was born to defend. I married him knowing this, and knew despite how hard it was for myself and my family, we had to support him.

Later that evening just as Cooper had dragged down his suitcase for his trip the next day, the phone rang. As I always did for the kids' sakes, I would go into another room to answer it. Incase it was bad news, I didn't want them to see me collapse or cry.

"Hello."

"Hey Honey. Sorry it's been awhile."

I exhaled a long hard sigh, as my hand reached for my forehead. The relief was almost intense enough to knock me off my feet, and so I leaned against the wall and smiled through my next words.

"Oh god Clint, did I need to hear your voice tonight."

"Yeah? Having a rough day?"

"Both the kids and I, yes. Cooper broke down again today, but he's going with a friend on a little trip tomorrow so maybe that'll help."

"Oh that's good for him to get out. You know I've been trying to get back, I really am."

"No Clint, no I know. Don't stress over us okay, just take care of yourself and Nat."

"Well you worry about me, so naturally I worry about you and the kids. It's what family does."

"If only we were like a normal family," I said through a short laugh.

"If only…" Clint said in a lethargic and even sad voice.

"You sound exhausted. Are you alright?" I asked softly, gripping the phone tightly.

"It's just been a long couple weeks, Laura. Nat and I both have our share of wounds, but we have each other, and this isn't the worst we've ever been through."

"Well you need to get some sleep while you can. Keep your strength up."

"Yes Ma'am" he said quietly, with an evident weakness and exhaustion in his voice.

"I don't want to let you go now, but I know you need to sleep. And I know you won't be the one to hang up, so-"

"No wait. Can I talk to them?" He asked quickly.

"If they're still awake that is."

I walked upstairs to see which lights were on, and when seeing both were dark she was about to tell Clint that they were sleeping when a creak in the floorboard could be heard as Cooper stepped out of his room.

"Mom?" He asked, obviously startled by her coming up and walking by his room.

"Cooper!" I rushed up to him, with the phone pressed into her chest so to mute the conversation.

"I'm…I'm on the phone with your dad."

The kid who had so easily showed such anger to his dad earlier that day, suddenly obtained a small spark in his eye - as if in disbelief and relief. I smiled as I kneeled down next to him, and without a word placed the phone into his palm.

I watched as Cooper cautiously brought the phone to his ear. But I knew when Clint began speaking, for Cooper's eyes lost that angered and lost haze they had earlier. I couldn't hear Clint's words exactly, but I stepped back to allow Cooper some private time with his dad.

However even when I walked down the hall to go check on Lila, who was fast asleep in her bed with crayons and paper scattered around her room, I could hear Cooper's enthusasim:

"You mean I'll get to try your bow?"

"Don't tell mom, or she won't let you!"

"Yeah, I'll teach you how to fish when you get back. I can't believe you've never been."

"When are you coming home though, dad?"

"Okay."

"I miss you too."

I expected the conversation to be coming to an end, and so I was approached Cooper and was about to take the phone back when he pulled it away from me quickly and said to both Clint and I, "Wait."

"Hey dad?"

"Yeah bud?" I could hear Clint reply faintly for I was close enough to hear them both.

"Happy Veterans Day. Lila and I, and mom too, we're…we're proud of you and what you do."

I never knew Clint to hesitate when talking, but he didn't reply immediately and I could only assume he was shocked by his son's thoughtful words.

"Thanks bud, I- I love you."

He was lost for words.

When I took the phone back and we began talking again, I could hear the slight crack in his voice that wasn't there before. Cooper - the same boy who had held such anger towards Clint earlier today - had now moved him to tears.

"He really misses you," I said sadly as I shut my bedroom door and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Yeah, I can tell. Laura, I don't know how much longer I can work like this. Being away from you and the kids, especially with you being -"

I cut him off quickly.

"Clint. Like Cooper just said, we are proud of you."

He was silent, likely still holding back tears. It was an emotional night for him I knew, he likely was hurt more than I knew, and Natasha was surely not in good shape either. This was his first time contacting anyone besides Natasha in the past month. I knew Clint to get a little mentally unstable in long grueling missions like this, but then again who wouldn't be.

"You're strong, but so are we. For as long as you want to work, for as long as the team and the world needs Hawkeye, we will be fine."

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"Never be." I said firmly back.

"There will be a time in the future to be their father, I promise. But you know where your duties lie right now."

He didn't reply, but I knew he agreed with what I was saying at this point.

"Just stay safe for me. Come home to us."

In all his years off work, Clint never once had made a promise that he would be alright or promised to come home. But instead simply he agreed to trying, as he said in an exhausted voice,

"Yes Ma'am."

"I love you." I said finally, feeling tears begin to build up behind my eyes as I knew our conversation was coming to an end.

"I love you." He said finally, before the phone call ended and I would enter the void once again of wondering if I had just heard my husband's last words to me.

It was a vicious cycle, I knew it was. I could hold more optimism about his career, but coming from being a retired combat medic - I knew the realities all too well.

Those phone calls were never easy, especially ending them. That is why Clint would always be the one to hang up - he wanted to make it easier on us. He always ended every single call he made with "I love you." While it was comforting, it was also a bit haunting knowing that such an endearing phrase had a very good chance of being my husband's last words to me.

The next time we would hear from my husband and my children's father, would be about 2 weeks later - when we received a letter in the mail addressed to Lila Barton. After Lila had mailed Clint a card for Veterans Day that year, it would become a sort of tradition that Clint would always send her postcards of where he was at. They would always be addressed by a fake alias, "An Army Soldier," but she knew who they were from. It was one positive thing she had to hang onto when he would leave, the promise of getting those beautiful little postcards in the mailbox documenting her daddy's travels.

 **For all my fellow Americans reading this on the day it is being published: please be sure to remember the courage our men and women in uniform possess. Take a moment to consider their bravery, sacrifice, and heroism - along with their family's today. For that is what today, November 11th, is for. Thank you to all who have served.**


End file.
